Jamais Vu: Bachelorette
by Beeblebabe
Summary: After the series, Anthy looks into a mirror and reflects.


jamais vu, n.: The illusion or impression of never having experienced something that has actually been experienced many times before (cf. deja vu)

I look in the mirror for a long time. I stare. I stand in front of it without any clothes and I look for as long as I can. Utena doesn't understand why, but she doesn't need to.

There weren't mirrors before, in there. We didn't need them. I didn't. I know what I looked like. Nothing changed. Nothing needed to be fixed. It would fix itself soon enough. We didn't need mirrors unless they were needed.

When you touch a mirror, it's cold, not quite like touching glass. There's something inside the magic that makes it show. That's why it feels different. I think my hand is warm, because it gets cloudy on the mirror where I touch. Or maybe I make the magic get confused. Mirrors must be confused by me. We've never met before.

Here I don't know what I look like unless the mirror tells me. My hair tangles when I sleep or if it's windy. Utena teases me a little and works out the knots with her fingers. When I look in the mirror, I see it. I see my hair. I see the hair of the magic girl who thinks she's me.

When I look now, I know Utena will tell me I should get a haircut soon. My hair has grown. My hair has grown. I can't put it up or pin it away. It's too long because it's grown. It didn't grow before. I don't like haircuts. The scissors make horrible noises like swords, and it hurts when they cut. But she holds my hand and I'm not afraid.

The girl in the mirror is taller than what I see in my eyes and think is me. I've grown. I'm still smaller than Utena. But she's grown, too. Both of us, bigger now. She can tuck my head under her chin when we both stand. But the mirror magic works here. Even without mirrors, my feet touch the floor now when I sit down in a chair.

The first time I felt my heels on the ground, I said something. It had never happened. It was new. She smiled and said I must have had a growth spurt. It was part of growing up, she said.

I've never grown up before. I don't understand why I have to. No one here seems to, either.

Other changes, other strange changes. I want them to be mirror magic, but even when I'm dressed and away, the reflection's woman's curves have eaten away the girl I know.

She took me shopping and bought me new clothes that fit better. She told me I looked beautiful. It made me happy, and I didn't need to look in the mirror to see.

I don't know who she is, in the mirror. She must be the same as the girl-woman in the photo album Utena keeps. The stranger with my eyes can smile for the camera just like me, but she does it with her eyes open. Her eyes are open and if you look in here eyes you can see that it's not a stranger but me.

Utena says that it's my birthday today. I'm twenty. She says I am, the same age she'll be in a few months. I almost told her no, I'm not. I'm older, I'm younger. I'm older than mirrors, older than eyes.

I'm fourteen. I can't be twenty. I don't understand how it could have happened. The mirror proves it, though. But she says we'll have a party and she loves me as much now as she did years ago. She doesn't count the years because that wouldn't add up. She's loved me longer than she's known me here.

She says it's my birthday, though, so it is. I must have told her that. Almost everyone will be at the party, she says. They'll be happy to see me, and they'll wish me well. But I'll make them all nervous, because I always make them nervous. But it's not so bad when Utena's there.

Tonight, maybe, Ruka will play a song for me. He might not. He wouldn't know the right song to play. He doesn't like me much. I don't think he'll be at the party. He remembers when I was his and he had a chance. He thought he did. He never did. He looks at me and always stares. I don't open my eyes to smile at him. It's okay, though. He thinks it was all fake, so it's okay.

I'd tell him that just because it went away doesn't make it fake. He wouldn't understand. No one here does. It's a good thing they don't remember. Just because they don't remember and he does doesn't make it fake. My world was just better made. Things worked like they should.

I miss it sometimes. Things there happened like I wanted them to. How I expected them to. No one here understands what it's like. It's special, to have your world that works. Special things aren't fake.

I miss him sometimes, too. No one would understand that. But no one remembers him, so it doesn't matter. I miss both of my brothers. I can see one in her when she's not looking, though. She catches me smiling sometimes when I see him in her eyes and she asks me why. I tell her because she's my prince. That makes her happy.

Sometimes when she's asleep and I'm not, I whisper to him. I know he hears me. She always wakes up smiling the next day. I know he hears me.

I miss him, the other him. He understood. Utena loves me and I love her. She'll protect me and be my prince forever and ever. But she doesn't understand. He knew why I was lonely. He knew when it hurt. Sometimes he didn't care about when I was lonely. Sometimes he made it worse when it hurt. That didn't matter, because he knew. No one else in the world ever understood but him. I'm not lonely anymore, and it doesn't hurt anymore. No one ever will again.

The ones here who remember here will never understand. They think it was fake. It didn't feel fake. It hurt more than anything here ever does. Everything here is dull. There aren't real colors. People do stupid things here. They end when they die. They wake up and are different each day instead of being the same. They get old and their hair grows.

But I know it's real. Even though it's different.

And only he would understand that. And he was real. But he's not real here. So I miss him sometimes. But not enough to ever want to go back. I don't need to be understood. I have her to love me.

Utena comes in to see me, in front of the mirror. She tells me I should get ready soon. She curls her arms around me when I look in the mirror, tucking my head under her chin. The mirror says her hair is blonde, but I know better. The mirror says she's older, but it can't fool me. I know how magic works. I know. The mirror doesn't tell me she's my prince, but I can feel her heart beat _princess princess my princess_ against my back. The mirror doesn't understand.

With her, I don't need mirrors, I'm never lonely, it never hurts. And she's the only real thing that matters.


End file.
